Replace the candle, Nurse!

I tend to read Rose into nearly everything Evelyn wrote, in this one because she repeats allusions to stem (Evelyn) and flower (Rose.)

Sonnet

Replace the candle, Nurse! It’s burning low
And death’s grim eyes are blinded by the light.
His darkening wings are flapping in the night.
his breath is hoarse with eagerness to blow.
Replace the candle nurse! Its violet flame
Forgets me not of rainbows, laid on snow
By sun-stung flakes, and dogwood trees that throw
Their scented spring song from a woody frame.


How could I think to stave the thirst of Death
With a candle’s slender strength? This is not spring!
An aching stem must yield its heart in flower,
For life has but a faltering claim on breath;
And skillful science makes no still pulse sing
When stardust measures out its final hour.

Evelyn Coffey

Morning sleeps ...

With my part of the country suffering weeks of heat degree days over one hundred, this poem about snow in November is cooling and refreshing.

Morning sleeps.

On the trees, bleak shadows

In the emptiness of ours.

Straining and taut

Are the strings of the air

November air

Awaiting the touch

Of the first earth-swinging snow.

Loosed by a zephyr,

the sky-wide zipper

spills its notes,

white drops,

Bright drops,

Hurling, swirling,

Tripping, skipping,

Skimming silver chords

Beating obligatos

On the cold air,

On the strings of cold, November air.

E. Coffey

Once she was two who now is one

Other than her love for her sister Rose, I know nothing of Evelyn’s loves, lost or found. But as one who once was two and now is one, I know she knows whereof she speaks in this deeply poignant poem.

who can say

who sings

who can know

whose voice

rides on the

poplar leaf

on the silver

tree swing

in the throat

of the nightingale?

once she was two

who now is

one:

before the great

silence

left a star scar

only less light

than light

where her other

was.

who can say

whose voice

like a spent star

ricochets on the

untouchable

night?

Evelyn Coffey

Burning, burning

Burning, burning

A mellow tune upon my heart,

Yearning, yearning,

Sang the moon with ageless art.

Thrilling, thrilling

To the magic in the sky,

Filling, filling

Shadowed spots with silver dye.

Beaming, beaming

With a happiness supreme,

Gleaming, gleaming

As the cloudlets intervene.

Hoping, hoping

That its joy would never end,

Sloping, sloping,

I saw old dawn around the bend

Of night!

Evelyn Coffey

a pink birthsong

Wow! This one is deeper than I can fathom. It clearly refers to Evelyn’s love for her lost sister Rose, has lines quite similar to “The Rose Song”. But then she converts/equates/compares that love to Mary’s for Christ, mixes her own love for Rose into her personal devotion to Christ. I find myself lost in the depths of Evelyn’s mystery, even as I awed by her oneness with Christ.

yesterday

a pink

birthsong

in a pink

rose

leaned on the gray

autumn

on the green

glazed stem

on the tall

rose tree.

last flower

only flower

lonely on the

long limp tree.

mine

(not mine?)

mine

beloved

heart held

eye won

mine.

another mary

fed its earth

spilled its rain

groomed it

(not knowing)

for Mary’s Son.

today

she lies

where His rose

is not;

lies where

His heart

is.

Evelyn Coffey

Final three cinquains

Three final cinquains by Evelyn Coffey

Gray mist,

Speared with moonglow,

Sketched a weird silhouette

Against the fawning dusk of tall,

Gaunt trees.

* * *

Blue eyes

Hold deep-sea dreams,

Quiescent and purple

At evening, and dusted with stars

At night.

* * *

Flowers

Look to the sun

And adore him richly

In their blooming. Just so I turn

To you!

Evelyn Coffey

More cinquains

Read about a class room assignment for cinquains using the parts of speech: http://www.readwritethink.org/classroom-resources/lesson-plans/composing-cinquain-poems-with-43.html

Or checkout the work of a second grade boy http://www.squidoo.com/kenneths-cinquain-poems

Then come back and enjoy Evelyn’s pieces.

The fog

Is a dancer,

Brooding on rough waters.

A wave disturbs her and she lifts

Her veil.

**********

My feet

Sought the valley

And were strangled in mud;

But my fingers played in star-dust

With you!

Evelyn Coffey

Two cinquains

We are told to exercise our minds to forestall senility by playing bridge or doing Sudoku. Forget Sudoku and instead accept the discipline of creating Cinquains. Finding just the right number of syllables AND meaningful words are real challenges.

Go to http://www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain/ and see if you are up to snuff to write one!

Evelyn called the first of these “Disillusioned”

My heart

Is crushed to earth

As anguished as petals

Trampled under heedless feet. Faith

Dies hard.

* * * * *

Your voice,

Like an organ

Fingered tenderly, sounds

A symphony that melodies

Caress.

Evelyn Coffey

Cinquains

More of Evelyn’s cinquains. The last two are dated Nov. 6, 1933.

Fountain

Of life, I am

Beautiful in your eyes,

Like the sylph of your dreams, for you

Are love.

**********

Ragged,

Unkempt, the wind

Is a newsboy today,

screaming and screeching shrilly round

Lamp-posts.

**********

Gray dawn

Awoke and thrust

Her flame-tipped spear into

Night’s side. His red blood spilled, and day

Was born.

**********

Red hair

Is shadow-lit,

Like burnished filament,

Or shreds of copper shimmering

In fire.

Evelyn Coffey

Four Cinquains

Cinquain was a new word to me, so I did some research. Shawn M. Tomlinson, on ehow.com, defined it nicely:

"Cinquains are five-line poems in three basic patterns created originally by Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1914) based on the Japanese 17-syllable Haiku. She did not originate the five-line poem, but instead altered it for starkness associated with the Haiku. Crapsey wrote 28 of them. While the form never has become the mainstream of American verse, it is an unusual poetic type that restricts the poet to very few words, thus making it a hard form to master, but beautiful to read.

The cinquains follow one of the following formats. The first is that each line has successively more words,

except the fifth. The first line has one word, the second two, the third three, the fourth four, and the fifth

back to one.

In the second type, each line has a type of word. The first has a noun, the second two adjectives, the third three words ending in "ing," the fourth a phrase, and the fifth a noun.

In the third type, each line has successive syllables. The first has two syllables, the second four, the third six, the fourth eight, and the last two."

Evelyn was assigned to write Cinquains in Dr. Adler’s Prosody class which she took in 1933. Today we’ll look at four of hers that follow the third pattern.

Wonder

Where God bought the

Silver He wove into

My Mom's hair. It gleams so whitely,

Brightly!

* * * * *

Firelight

Plays a magic

Melody in my mind.

Colors tinkle dancingly, like

Dream bells.

* * * * *

I see

Tears shining in

My baby's eyes, like drops

Of morning dew in the heart of

A flower.

* * * * *

Quiet

Red sands tremble

To a wave's caress as

The sea's dark waters roll. Night plays

Its harp.

Evelyn Coffey

Farewell

Farewell

(a Chinese officer departs for war)

This only do I leave with pain,

this pink and white and slant-eyed thing

which is my soul,

my heart,

my love,

my morning breath,

and singing Death

will not make whole

that part whereof

I halve myself . . . . betraying Spring.

You only do I leave with pain,

O pink and white and slant-eyed thing!

Evelyn Coffey

The Hermit

At some point Evelyn edited and made minor changes to this poem. Changing the punctuation on the last line changes the impact, give us pause to think.

This first transcription of 9/24/98 differs from the apparent original (below), dated 11/21/34.

The Hermit

He stalks the tumult

of a voluptuous heaven,

calling the stars by name

and tracing their design

on the live canvas

of changing skies.

He holds

the mystery of lightning

in his hand.

He stirs earth

that is lax and dead

and turns it with seed;

flowers spring

from his touch

and perfumes

petal the path

of his loneliness.

His heart pulses,

and the throbbing throats

of birds

answer its beating.

He lives . . . in solitude?

(Below is the original version, edited by Evelyn at some later date.)

The Hermit

He liveds in solitude,

Knowing the stars

And tracing their design

On the live canvas

Of changing skies.

He walkeds

Tumultuous elements

To their death,

And held holds the mystery

Of lightning

In his hand.

He stirreds earth

that was is lax and dead

and turneds it with seed.

Flowers

Spraing from his touch,

and perfumes

petaled the path

of his loneliness.

His heart pulseds

And the throbbing throats

Of birds

Answered its beating.

He liveds in solitude.

Evelyn Coffey

(Tense change edited above shows in later typed copy. There are thus three versions, with past tense, present tense, and the last, transcribed version at the top of this page.)